It was easy to tell Jeremy was blind. It never occurred to me I was just as blind as he was. Not until it was nearly too late.

Chapter One

The first time someone put everything I had in garbage bags, I was horrified. I didn’t want to put my favorite shirt and jeans in a garbage bag. They weren’t garbage to me. But the longer I was in the system, the more accustomed I was to seeing my stuff that way. My hand-me-down clothes and shoes worn clear through the sole were just my own personal garbage. Once, when I was twelve, a foster parent of mine accidentally threw away everything I had because I hadn’t taken it out of the bag and put it away yet. They were good people, they took me out later that day to buy me some new clothes and it was the nicest stuff I’d had in years. But I still cried myself to sleep for a week over losing that bag of junk. It was my junk, after all. “I hate moving day,” I said once the heavy red door had closed and we were walking side by side toward the car.“I know you do, Cassie,” Ms. D said, unlocking her trunk. I threw my garbage bag inside and took one last look at the house, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. It was a neat little three bedroom white colonial style house on the edge of the city. Cute as all get out, modern and new. The perfect home for a growing family. I got into the front seat and slammed the heavy station wagon door and felt the air get thick and hard to swallow. I would miss coming home to the Warrens every night.No.Immediately, I corrected myself.I would miss coming back to the Warrens every night. I wouldn’t know ‘home’ if it dropped on top of me Wicked Witch style. Ms. D was a tall, skinny as a rail sort of person. She never wore makeup and liked flat, ugly, sensible shoes. Her clothes were worn in and had that twenty-washes later faded look. They were simple, dependable. Like her. We had been riding for ten minutes in silence. She was navigating the labyrinth of roads with nature themed names in the Warren’s subdivision and I was scrawling their last name on the right thigh of my jeans. As I scratched the letters across my jeans I thought about the things the Warren’s had said before I left. You’re going to do great, you’re a smart girl, you’ve got a bright future. I knew it was just the stuff adults said to make themselves feel better about tough situations, but it was nice of them to say nice things, so I should have pretended I was nice too. I didn’t. I had stood stoic by the door, silent. Angry. I wasn’t angry anymore, and when my vision became too blurry to see I stopped moving my pen and blinked until I could. “What’d I do to get thrown away this time?” I asked suddenly, and I cleared my throat to cover the way it cracked, knowing Ms. D would be kind enough not to say anything even if she noticed. Ms. D glanced over at me, her plain blonde bob barely moving an inch. She didn’t need to ask what I meant. “They didn’t throw you away, Cassie.” I scoffed. “Funny. Ain’t that a garbage bag full of my clothes in your trunk? Wasn’t that the Goodbye look I was gettin’ on my way out the door? Don’t try and tell me I’m ever going back. I’m not a complete idiot.” I turned to look out the window so she wouldn’t see my cheeks flushing red. Ms. D sighed and shifted slightly in her seat. “I just hate the way you say ‘throw away’. You’re not garbage.” I didn’t respond except to allow my head to fall forward and lean against the glass of the car door. I always thought it ironic that she usually prefaced that statement by handing me a garbage bag to shove all my stuff into. She rolled her head and then reached up to massage her right shoulder as we pulled onto the main street. “Anyway,” she continued haltingly, and I smirked. Ms. D always hated awkward silences. “You knew the arrangement with the Warren’s wasn’t supposed to be a permanent it was always supposed to be temporary, three, four weeks at the most.”“It’s been almost a year!” “I know, Cassie, and I know it wasn’t fair to you to let you get attached like that,” she finished softly and looked over at me. I bit my lip and turned to look out the window again, watching a mother readjust her little boy’s clip on tie before they crossed the street. Vaguely, I wondered where they were going all dressed up like that.“I don’t get attached,” I shook my head, “been doin’ this too long.” I ran my finger across the name Warren, the fresh ink turned my fingertip blue. Above it, closer to the knee, were Hopkins, Garcia, Monroe, Washington, Harris, Bricker, and Gray. The names of all the foster families I’d been with that hadn’t worked out. Gary and Lisa Monroe were the hardest to leave. I was nine and had spent nearly two years with them when Gary developed a heart condition and it was either him or me. Take a wild guess at which of us they got rid of. I could hear Ms. D shifting around beside me and waited for her to tell me whatever it was she wanted to say. “Cassie, the people I was telling you about have made a decision. That’s where we’re headed now. They’re really wonderful people, you’re going to love them.” I shrugged and turned to look out the window again. I didn’t even need to pretend I wasn’t interested. “What’s so ‘wonderful’ about them?” I sniffed, wiping at my eyes under the guise of shoving my hair off my forehead. “They got candy-coated walls or something?” “Cassie,” she shook her head and I noticed distantly that her blinker was clicking double-time, meaning her left front blinker was broken again. “Don’t jerk me around, ok? Just tell me what’s so special about this new place?” “The Bender’s are just really wonderful people, Cassie. I’ve placed kids with them before and they don’t mind personality.” I titled my head to acquiesce her point on that.‘Personality’ was Ms. D’s polite word for ‘difficult’. We rode a bit longer in silence before she prompted me to speak. “I wasn’t aware there was anything else to say.” I frowned at her.“Cassie, I’m trying to make you see. The Benders are relatively young, both in their mid thirties. They only take one placement at a time because they’re guardians of a relative as well.”“Where is this going?” I interrupted, rolling my head back on the seat and closing my eyes. I’d had enough of these car ride beat around the bush, you-can’t-get-away-because-we’re-in-a-moving-vehicle conversations to know she was gearing up for something.She sighed, hating that I’d spoiled whatever speech she had prepared. “The Benders might be it, Cassie,” at a red light she turned to look at me, and I imagined a bright smile on her face that her cool grey eyes and bland hair color didn’t do justice. “They’re the permanent type.”“We’ve been over this Ms. D, I’m not permanent material,” I argued, steadfastly keeping my eyes closed, not seeing anything. “That’s not true.” “Yes it is. And even if it wasn’t it wouldn’t matter and you know it.” I wanted to soften the blow, but for some reason the certainty in her voice made my stomach tighten in fear. “Cassie.” “I don’t want to be adopted, ok?” I resented the way my voice squeaked at the end of the sentence. My emotions ran too high on moving day.She went silent and I waited for several minutes, but she didn’t seem to want to continue the conversation. So I turned and pressed my face to the glass, waiting to see where we would end up.Nearly an hour later we were pulling up in front of the Bender’s place. It was a modest fifties style ranch, a typical middle class home and nothing I wasn’t used to. Complete with green shutters, a two-car garage and a large oak in the front yard, it was an almost perfect clone of nearly every other house on the block. I got out, slammed the door on the station wagon, got my stuff and moved up the walkway two and a half steps behind Ms. D. She rang the doorbell and I self-consciously held my garbage bag to my side with sweaty palms. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door swung open. A man with dark hair and five o’clock shadow stood smiling on the other side. His jeans were well worn, with the beginning of a hole in one knee and his faded sneakers from the nineties, judging by the style had probably been cool at one time. But I found myself mysteriously pleased by the fact that he still wore them even though they were clearly old and out of date. “Hi, sorry it took me so long to get to the door,” he apologized and managed to sound sincere. If I had drug my eyes up from the ground I might’ve known if he was talking to me or Ms. D. “Please come in.” I followed Ms. D inside, ignoring both her and the man as they exchanged greetings and chit chatted a moment while I absently toed off my shoes as I’d seen Ms. D do. The house smelled of burning unscented candles and wet dirt. I spotted a plant near the door with a big pink flower. It was real, the dirt wet from being freshly watered, and I nodded in approval. I always liked plants.The living room spread out to the right of the entrance and I was pleased to see no white furniture or carpeting. A good sign as far as their tolerance went. I’d been concerned when I saw the pile of shoes at the door. After I spent the better part of six months with a family who thought it was sacrilegious to walk on vacuum tracks in the carpet and could have turned Saturday chores into an Olympic event. I learned to make my bed with military precision. I also dumped a bucket full of mud right in the middle of that pristine bed the day I was removed. A smile cracked my lips at the memory of Lorna Bricker’s scream of horror when she’d discovered my bed that day, and the confused look on Ms. D’s face when I dragged her to the car giggling. I shook my head to refocus and turned my attention to the sitting area.It was strictly a living room, with not a TV in sight. I hoped they had one somewhere, and maybe cable to go with it. There were also pictures on the wall that merited more scrutiny at a later time, and candles burning on the coffee table. I inhaled deeply, enjoying their waxy scent.When I swiveled my head around to see the rest of the house, I noticed the dining room at the end of the hall and a stairway with a wooden banister to my right. The stairway looked like it had chew marks at the bottom, near the floor. I wondered if they had a dog or if they’d bought the house like that.I felt pressure on my arm and looked over to see Ms. D trying to turn me around to face the man standing a few feet away next to the stairs. “So, Cassie, this is William Bender,” she turned her smile toward the man, “William, this is Cassie.” William was tall and I thought a little bit thin since he didn’t have a beer gut like most men I knew. His green eyes stood out in stark contrast to his jet-black hair. He looked a little bit younger than Ms. D, but then, most people did. He extended his hand and smiled. “It's nice to finally meet you, Cassie. We’re very excited to have you.” I tried to smile back, but it probably came out more like a grimace, and I casually returned the handshake. “Yeah.” His smile faltered a bit and he withdrew his hand, the silence turning awkward even faster than normal.“I, uh, saw you looking at the pictures over there. My wife is a photographer. I hope you don’t mind having pictures snapped of you.” He seemed to be joking, but I wasn’t in a laughing mood. I made a half attempt at a smile but cringed inwardly. Preserving my faded clothes, limp hair and somewhat permanently scowling face for all eternity was not at the top of my ‘to do’ list.“Um, William, could Cassie and I have a moment?” Mrs. D cut in before he could respond.He nodded in earnest. “Of course,” he said, starting back down the hall, “I’ll just go get Megan. She’s downstairs folding laundry. She was so excited she couldn’t keep still.”Ms. D smiled at his back as he went and then turned to me. “How’re you doing?”I dropped my plastic bag on a chair, shoved my hands in my jacket pockets, and looked outside at the rain that had started to fall, not answering. “Well?” she prompted seconds later. She was practically bouncing with excitement and it was more irritating even than her usual sunny demeanor.“What? What do you want me to say?” I snapped, finding anger much easier to deal with than the all-consuming anxiety that came with every placement. Another day, another house, another chance at…I squashed that train of thought and focused on the fact that Ms. D hadn’t answered my question. I looked her square in the eye. “Why should I believe that this time will be any different?”Ms. D’s eyes faltered and she looked in the direction Mr. Bender had gone to get his wife. “Cassie, it can always be different. Your life is what you make of it.”I rolled my eyes, unable to form an actual verbal response. I shifted on my feet. A restless, nagging doubt bubbling inside my chest left it hard for me to breathe and I forced a deep sigh. “Don’t patronize me with sayings you got from a fortune cookie, ok? I’m not five anymore,” I grumbled, and seeing how the words pained her, I looked away, refusing to change the stony expression on my face. To apologize was to admit I cared, and to care was to open yourself up to pain. I couldn’t afford to share my pain with her. Not today.The raindrops pelted the window panes, racing each other to the bottom and I closed my eyes, wishing to be anywhere but here. My ribs and lungs were being pulled inward, every deep breath was simultaneously a relief and a monumental effort. I sighed again and stared at the rain. After a few seconds, I felt Ms. D’s hand on my shoulder and I set my jaw. That soft pressure of five fingers on my shoulder, a gentle squeeze keeping me anchored to the ground even as it was shifting beneath my feet had been the one constant through my life. Ms. D had been my constant. I hated that her presence comforted me as much as it did. “Why can’t I just go with you?” My voice was almost inaudible and I pushed my hands into my pockets, pulled them out, and then put them back in again. My palms were sweaty. I blinked hard and kept my back to her, almost afraid of how hard my heart was pounding with hope. ‘Hope’ was as dangerous as ‘care’. “Please,” I said, though it came out in barely a whisper. Ordinarily I would have been angry at myself for even saying the words, and I certainly would be angry later. Maybe that was why I insisted on asking every time she brought me to a new place. I knew she would say ‘no’. And as hard as it was for me to wait for the answer, it was harder for her to give it. I hated myself for putting her through it, and I hated her for making me wish she could answer differently. “I can’t, Cassie. You know that,” she said, and I turned to watch the way her eyes would fall closed briefly when she squeezed my shoulder again. There was no heat or anger in the words. There never was. Just a hint of despair and confusion in her light eyes and a sharp inhale as she got her emotions back under control. I turned, attempting to pull out of her grasp. Instead, she strengthened her grip and pulled me to her in a quick hug. Stunned and angry and as cold as was required to survive this day, I remained rigid in her arms, not wanting the comfort the hug was supposed to give me. When she pulled back, her lips were pursed in regret, and I looked away. Sniffing and telling myself it was because I was coming down with a cold, I pushed my hands deeper into my pockets. There was the sound of someone clearing their throat and we both turned to look toward the entrance of the living room. William stood there, looking just a little bit uncomfortable. At his side was a petite woman with fiery red hair and black rectangular glasses. She probably would have fit better in the role of a college coed than a housewife, wearing her MSU sweatshirt, jeans and a small smile.“Hi, you must be Cassie. I’m Megan Bender. We’re very happy to have you here.”I sniffed again and blinked at her, ignoring the proffered hand this time. Ms. D let out a cough that was obviously faked and gave me a small push forward. I glared at her over my shoulder but stepped forward and put out my hand. In the few moments it took me to close the distance between us and put out my hand, I took all the memories I had of the Warrens, wrapped them up with the sting of rejection that clung to my skin, and pushed them to the back of my mind where I kept the memories of my mother and the names of friends I’d never see again.“Nice to meet you,” I said, remembering to look her in the eye and speak up. Rocking slightly forward onto my toes, I noticed her giving a strange look to the garbage bag on her pink wingchair. I was tempted for just half a second to pretend it wasn’t mine, but it would have been a pointless lie, and a short lived one at that. Mostly because it was mine, and because Ms. D would say so. I raised and lowered one shoulder and grabbed a fistful of plastic, picking the bag up almost to eye level. “You got somewhere I can put my stuff?”Megan smiled tightly and turned to lead me upstairs when Ms. D’s voice broke through.“Mr. Bender, Mrs. Bender, I was wondering if I might speak to you both privately a moment.” Megan looked uncertain and I took a few steps forward, swinging the bag up over my shoulder.“I can find it alright on my own,” I volunteered, leaving the ‘I don’t need a babysitter’ part unspoken.“Oh. Alright then,” Megan nodded, red hair bouncing energetically in her ponytail. “First door on your right. You can’t miss it.” She pointed upwards. I nodded and trudged upstairs, the plastic runner that had been tacked over the carpet to keep it clean felt just a little bit slippery under my socks. She was right, I couldn’t miss it. The hallway only went to the right at the top of the stairs and there were four doors. Only the first one on the right was open. The bedroom was good sized. Big enough for a bed on one wall and a dresser on the other. There was a table and a lamp beside the bed, and a small desk in the corner whose purpose was undoubtedly to improve my C+ average with long essays and extra credit, if the brand new binder, notebooks and pencils on top were anything to go by. I smirked. Not likely.I tossed my garbage bag onto the neatly made bed. It came open and a couple of my t-shirts spilled out, marring the perfect white comforter with faded patches of yellow and black and red. The corner of a shiny piece of paper peaked out from under one of the shirts and I walked over to pull it out, holding the small paper delicately in my hands. It was the only picture I had of my mother and me. I was about four years old, my round face taking up about half the frame, my mouth open in laughter, showing off a full set of baby teeth. Just behind me, my mother hugged me close. We were sitting on a swing in a park, she was laughing just as hard as me. I’d always been struck by how beautiful she looked in that picture. All blonde hair and honey eyes and laughter. I traced her face carefully as I walked across the room to the dresser. I propped the photo on top, in front of the mirror, where I would see it everyday. “Well, Mom,” I glanced around, “here we are.”